The Dark Angel Dances
by Willowith98
Summary: Choking, she fell to the feet of the man that she hated and wept for the man that she loved. In that moment, she wasn't sure which was which.


Once upon a time, a beautiful, healthy baby girl was born to Linda and Evan Matthes in a quaint little town known as Asamae. She would be named Lila. As she aged, Lila would grow to be a talented, sensible witch learning through the knowledge and bravery of Gryffindor and she'd follow in the steps of the legendary Aurors that brought so much good to the world of magic, battling against the Dark Lord Voldemort. Through the Ministry, she'd marry young to a handsome, young wizard, bear a trunk load of kids, and live out the rest of her days in a two story house surrounded by a white-picket fence. She'd live the ideal life. Through that similar, clichéd beginning, that fairy tale was ripped out of the book that was to be her life, and rewritten in a stranger's hand. Now, here she found herself: sitting in an isolated room, always alone, only allowed a moment by the window before she was called away again into the room to resume her studies. She felt as if, lately, she was always studying; she always had some new concept to learn, some new spell to practice, and some new person to meet. Lila couldn't really complain, in spite of the loneliness and isolation, the room was big enough, and she was given damn near everything she asked for. She couldn't really complain, because she didn't know anything different. Lila didn't know who she could have been, or who she was supposed to be now- all she knew was this room, those men that came to the manor every now and again to meet with the man she was supposed to do something really important for, and that little bird that flitted and danced near the opaque window pane whenever she placed a candle near it. She wasn't malnourished either, Lila ate regularly, once a day of some huge meal of whatever she desired, along with desserts whenever she asked for them. She was relatively happy, but...Something was missing. Something was always missing.

It was a cold, November morning when she was allowed to sit by the window again. It had been one week since last she'd taken that seat, and she always felt the familiar dim thrill of pleasure slither through her body when the day that she was allowed to sit there again drew near. Lila had begun to long for any moment she had to escape into the depths of her imagination where she couldn't be bothered, and with that, she longed for the moment that she would wake and be able to dive into it. She almost felt as if what felt like the hours and hours she spent sleeping stole too many hours away from the day. Without hesitation, as soon as she felt herself rising from the forceful arms of sleep, she forced her eyes open, and began to blink rapidly to try and push the haze away from her vision so she could glance around the room and search for where one of the cloaked men had put her outfit for the day. They never entered the room when she was awake.

As she pushed the heavy covers away from her small, prepubescent body and pulled herself to the edge of the bed, she noticed them at her feet in a perfectly folded little pile. He must be new. Usually her clothes were placed at the foot of the bed, or on the trunk shortly below that and never all in one pile. She bent slowly, afraid that her head would spin as the blood rushed to it, and picked up what appeared to be a very small, dark shirt, and realized that it was a skirt. Was this a joke? They never encouraged her femininity, or her longing to be like a normal child, and all of a sudden they were contradicting everything that they'd said by giving her this? But, she wouldn't argue. She never argued. A small pool of triumph pooled in her stomach as she pulled it up over her small legs, holding it in place as she buttoned the large silver buttons because she didn't have any hips to hold it there. Letting it go, it stayed perfectly in place, swaying a little as she smoothed it out with careful, pale white fingers. It rested just at the base of her thighs. It was perfect, everything she had dreamed of when imagining what the fabric would look like on her. The shirt was also dark, and made of a smooth fabric that she didn't recognize. She didn't hesitate to pull it over her disheveled hair and her thin, white frame. She'd always been uncomfortable about standing in the middle of the room unclothed for too long. She didn't understand why she wasn't allowed pajamas (One of the cloaked men had tried to explain that she would dirty her clothes while she had slept, or something like that), but she was allowed underwear, so she didn't argue. She tried to comb through her hair with her fingers as she moved closer to the large mirror on the wall to grab the candle resting quietly under it. Some part of her wondered if the candle was waiting for her. There was always someone waiting for her. She could never quite figure out why. Apparently she was special.

"Hello there." Lila whispered to the small, half melted wax stick. She was still brushing her fingers through her hair, absently now, as if they were doing it on their own. Wincing as her fingers caught a difficult tangle, she glanced up into the wide mirror as if by reflex and was startled by the person she saw staring back at her. Her usual delicate black curls were in massive disarray over her head, and she looked as if she'd been in the middle of a tornado. Her large black eyes were wide, with too much white showing, and cradled by dark black circles that curved under them. The black fabric that clung loosely to her miniature, undeveloped body made her look like a ghost. Her skin was too white. She looked almost frightened in that mirror. She almost didn't recognize herself. Nine years she'd spent in that large room furnished with only the nicest of possessions and she hadn't spent much time looking at herself, she supposed. She spent most of her time daydreaming and trying to focus on happier things in life, and it had never crossed her mind. Lila felt an overwhelming certainty that sitting there staring at herself made it all too real, made the whole situation be forced into the daylight and made it have to be looked at. She looked sickly, and she hated it, but not looking at herself, she could make it all disappear as if by magic.

Lila took the candle carefully from its wax covered holder, and began to make her way to the door, holding it as if she were afraid that she was going to break it. She knew the process. She'd knock on the door three times, and the man who'd been watching her room to make sure she wasn't "interrupted" would light it for her with the stick that he held. Then, he would close the door as gently as possible and he'd bolt it. It always happened the same way, once every week. As she walked, she could hear someone talking; someone who was talking quickly, quietly, and venomously, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. It sounded strange. Lila thought that unusual, normally the hallways outside of her room were kept unnaturally quiet.

"My Lord, you must consider this, what if she is not ready, what if she is not able…?" The man was speaking too quickly, as if he was nervous.

"Silence." That voice scared her. That cool, eerie voice crept down her spine and took hold of her stomach in its icy grip, and refused to let go.

"She will be ready. She will be able. For if she disappoints us, then…" His voice broke away and a blanket of silence laid itself over the small distance between them. The silence was too thick, and she almost wondered if she could reach out and grasp that silence in her trembling hand. Her hand clamped over her mouth without her even having the thought to suggest it, smothering the small puffs of nervous gasping that slipped out from between her lips. Would they be able to hear it? Even through the thick wood of the door, she felt as if they would be able to hear it.

"Open the door." There wasn't a single part of her that wanted to see the face behind that fearsome voice.

"But, My Lord…You said no one…?"

"Open it. Open it, now!" She could imagine whoever was standing there with him being cut by the fury laced into that voice, and she instinctively took several quick steps backward as the familiar clanking began near where she could imagine the locks would be. She could imagine whoever it was out there fumbling with them, and she braced herself to fight the urge to run past their legs and down what she assumed would be a hallway. She clutched the small candle in a death grip, her hand almost shaking with the force of it, and inched backwards until the small table in the middle of the room shook as she ran into it.

She gasped as the door swung open with an audible creak.

"Oh…" She whispered, almost feeling some kind of strange ripple of electricity through the air as a tall, cloaked figure swept into the room. He was much too tall to be any of the other men that she'd seen before. He was closely followed by a man she didn't recognize. She could feel her eyes strain from being too wide for too long, and she blinked several times to try and focus on the face that was trapped in the shadows of the hood that he wore. "Come to me, child." The voice whispered, holding out a pale, almost grey hand with fingers that were too long gesturing to her to come closer. She began to walk forward as if she were in a trance: slowly, with carefully placed footsteps.

"You see? She would not disappoint me. She is an obedient child, as we have groomed her to be. "Then he turned to her. "Give me what is in your hand." She swallowed, visibly, and fought the urge to back away from him. She slid her hand down the waxy surface as far as it would go, and raised it, shaking, to place it into his hand. He closed his hand halfway around the other end, grabbing it close enough to her hand that she could feel the heat of what she assumed to be power radiating out from it. He slid it easily out of her slackened grasp. She felt the fear overpower everything else, and she felt herself place her hands behind her back as if, though her brain was still working logically, she was too detached from the situation to realize it. He had one of the sticks that the other men used, but his was scarier. It was white, dirty, and looked as if it was carved out of bone. She didn't want to know whether it was carved out of bone or not.

"I suppose you want me to light this, yes?" She nodded slowly, sending several of the delicate black curls that were sitting every which way around her head tumbling down to frame her face and caress her cheeks. He watched her carefully as she brushed them aside, and turned her expectant stare to him. He held out the candle in front of his chest, securely, and pointed the tip of his wand at the wick. He held it out far enough that the candle didn't block out his ability to see her, for he wished to see her reaction to magic. Some part of him wanted her to be frightened. Some part of him wanted her to be curious enough to want to learn how to perform the spell. A small smile twisted his thin-lipped mouth as he pushed the thought towards the wick to burn and he didn't need to speak the word for it to happen. He was sure that with that she would be surprised. She would be intrigued. She would have to be intrigued. As the wick began to burn with a small, easily contained flame, her eyes were wide again, and she hesitated to take the candle from him. So like a child she was.

"Thank you." She whispered through barely moving lips. If he hadn't been looking at her, he wasn't sure he would've even heard it. She didn't take a moment to repeat herself, or to make it loud enough for any human to hear, and she didn't waste any time turning on one calloused heel to stride quickly and gracefully to the window at the opposite end of the room. Sitting abruptly on the small shelf by the pane, she placed the candle carefully beside her, and gazed wistfully at the deformed picture that was produced by the opaque glass. She let her hands sit lightly in her lap, and her knee began to bounce. It appeared as if she was waiting for something.

"Come on, come on, come on…" She was whispering over and over in her tiny voice, barely audible from where she sat.

"Dolohov." He whispered, immediately wondering if speaking so quietly was to not disturb her. He turned his head to focus on the side of the room, towards her bed, unwilling to give the man his full attention.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Does she…Is this regular, for her?"

"Yes, My Lord. Once a week she sits and stares out the window." He immediately stood by his decision to have the windows put in as they were, unable to truly be seen out of, to guard her from the distracting ability to focus on the stimuli that the world around her would force into her face. She had so many other things to focus on, it was better to just…Eliminate one.

"What is her name?"

"Lila, my Lord."

"Lila." He repeated, turning his focus from the side of the room back to her. Lila was still staring impatiently out the window, as if neither of the two men were still present.

"Leave us." He hissed, not turning to face the cowering mad who stood too close behind him.

"Yes…Yes, My Lord. At once." Voldemort didn't move until he heard the door click shut, and the lock slide home seconds afterward. Then he swept through the room, ignoring the faint, gentle caress of his robes as they brushed against his skin and flowed out behind him. He flicked his wand with the faintest of movements, and even his bare feet on the creaking wooden floor didn't make a sound. Silence hit the room as if it was completely cloaked in it, a silence too thick to ever be penetrated. He watched with something he could only describe as astonishment as she raised a trembling hand and traced her finger tips carefully over the tinted glass where some small shape was beating itself against it. By the soft pitter-patter of wings, he assumed it was some small bird.

"Hello there," She whispered, placing her hand flat against the window. The bird continued to beat itself against the glass, but strangely only around where her hand rested against it. As if, were it to be in the room, it would nuzzle its miniature beaked head against her waiting hand. He almost wondered if he was supposed to pity her, and if it would be normal to pity her in this situation. Was he supposed to feel pity for a creature that was serving a higher purpose than what fate had planned for its pitiful existence?

"What...Or...Who...is this?" She jumped as soon as he began to speak, and he could see the fight about whether or not to look at him cross her face. She decided against it, and continued staring at the window.

"No one." Her voice was high-pitched and almost hoarse with lack of use. It reminded him, strangely, of a bell, with its sing-song quality. It was ultimately lifeless, fighting to remain apathetic, and it was oddly determined. As if the determination fell mainly into him not knowing about this little friend she'd made.

"Do not lie to me, child." There was that deadly quality to his voice again, she thought. She could imagine it cutting her from the inside out.

"It's…It's nothing. Really." He could hear her voice crack as she spoke, and he smiled that familiar, cruel smile again.

"Then you wouldn't mind if something happened to your…To your little friend?" He lazily directed his wand at the faint shadow out the window, and it wasn't a few seconds before even she could detect the faint tendrils of smoke that swirled up from its miniature body. He could hear her breath catch, a muffled yell fighting up her throat.

"It's...It's just a bird, please..!" She was at a loss for words. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the horror peek out from behind her eyes, but she wasn't sure how to hide it. She wasn't sure if she was even capable of hiding it. How could someone be so cruel?

"You care about this little thing?"

"I…" She finally turned her stunned gaze from the window to his guarded face. What he saw in those black eyes caught him off guard: A fierce, almost murderous shadow clouded over every other aspect and emotion of her face, and every muscle in her body became taut, and sung with what could only be repressed rage. He could almost feel the anger tumbling through the air to attempt to smash into him as much as her nine year old power was capable of.

"Yes, okay? Yes. Is that what you wanted? Are you satisfied now?" She couldn't honestly expect him to take that high, tinkling voice seriously. She couldn't possible expect him to feel threatened by someone so...Fragile.

"So much hatred from such a little one, it is not surprising. I am not mistaken when I see greatness in any form." This caught her off guard, and the sudden confusion passing over her eyes brought another smile.

"Have you been studying?" He wanted to further that confusion.

"Yes." Her answer was sharp, abrupt, cutting the distance between them.

"Good. You will need it when you enroll in Hogwarts." She could feel her heart jump to her throat, pounding away at an all too familiar anticipation, and the small form of the bird outside her window left her mind. An opportunity to see the world, to know what was out there…Could this be happening?

No. She wouldn't be excited. She fought down the overpowering emotion and tried to snuff it. She wouldn't be excited again to only have it torn away.

"I'm enrolling…?"

"Yes. Soon. You will enroll, and you will get into Gryffindor. "As much emphasis as he put on the word "will", she was sure that he wouldn't rest until it was accomplished. But, Gryffindor? What was he planning? She'd always known he was partial to Slytherin, so why would he suddenly want her in its rival house?

He turned on his heel, and moved as if beginning to walk away. She assumed that their conversation had ended, and that he was done with her. She turned her gaze back to the window, a new triumph clawing its way through her small body. The little bird, that she aptly named Angel, was still dancing there, flitting this way and that and pressing its feathered arms into the pane to try to get to her. She almost smiled. It was magical.

And then, also as if by magic, her eyes were filled with distorted flames, an orange too bright to describe, and the dark Angel that she knew all too well fell from her view in what she childishly hoped would end in a cushioned fall. She knew she was being foolish. She knew he was dead, and she turned her head sharply to confront the culprit, but all she saw was the small, dark corner of his robe as he strode down the hall and the door slammed shut behind him. She was breathing too hard, too fast. Her head was spinning. She needed to lie down, before the black and grey shadows completely overtook her vision.

As she stood and moved towards the bed, blindly as she tried to blink the tears out of her eyes, she fell to her knees before she could climb onto it and wept. She realized that this was not a home, no matter how she tried to make it seem that way, it was a prison, and "soon" was forever and a day away.


End file.
